


Dirty Martini

by LelithSugar



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Body Shots, Body Worship, Comedy, Domestic Fluff, Established Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Established Relationship, Flavored Lube, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Harry Hart is a disgrace, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Content, Smut, cocktails, crisps, inadvisable shopping, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 04:18:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19349350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelithSugar/pseuds/LelithSugar
Summary: Eggsy finds gin and tonic flavoured lube (in the Pound Shop, of all places). Harry might have a new favourite cocktail by the end of the evening.





	Dirty Martini

**Author's Note:**

> *I* found gin and tonic flavoured lube in Poundland and twitter coaxed me into this (I'm @agentsnakebite if you'd care to join us). I'm a tad writer's blocked so just a little fun to push things through. Be gentle.

 

Dirty Martini

 

“Harry. Harry. Harry. Look what I found. In the fucking pound shop of all places.” 

Eggsy throws the plastic bottle across the kitchen and its years of working on his reflexes and the very human instinct not to let a flying object hit you in the face that allows Harry to snatch it out of the air without really looking.

“What were you even doing in the pound shop?”

“It’s the only place that still does Roysters, innit.” 

Is it, indeed - Harry’s a salt and vinegar man so really it’s of no odds to him.

And then he gets a look at what he’s actually holding and… and well, what the fuck, honestly. What he’s holding is an opaque white pump dispenser, its shape and size leading the experienced witness to lubricant even before the brand or the product name and then, most disconcertingly of all, the little spring green bubble proclaiming it to be  _ gin and tonic flavour _ , of all bloody things.

“Classy as fuck, eh?” Nothing from the pound shop has ever been anything of the sort, and Eggsy knows it.  “Thought that’d be right up your alley.” His most award-winning cheeky smile - one side first, showing teeth, eyes sparkling - is almost enough for Harry to helplessly agree with him but the immediate reservations about any intimate product costing less that, at the bare minimum, a queen’s tenner is just enough to win out. 

“This is not going right up anyone’s anything until I’ve run an ingredients check.”

“Spoilsport.” Eggsy tuts, and rolls his eyes. “Are you actually that snobby?”

“You’ll be laughing on the other side of your face when you’re hospitalised with some sort of horrific allergic reaction,” Harry mumbles, trailing off when distracted by the strip of waist bared when Eggsy scratched absently at the small of his back with his thumb.  The concern is real, the explanation only dramatic as needed to dissuade Eggsy from immediately basting himself in something inadvisable in he name of sexual enticement, but… Harry watches the long chemical names tick through the recognition software inside his glasses in green  - honestly if he ever had to resort to googling things like a normal person he’d be lost - and feels his eyebrows raising as nothing flags up as poisonous or incendiary. Mild and waterbased, actually fairly usable depending on how fussy you are about flavours. “It looks like it could be alright, actually.”

“Mint. I’m gonna go uh…” Eggsy looks Harry down and back up so blatantly harry wonders for a moment if he’s forgotten to put trousers on.  “Grab a shower?” And sometimes Harry thinks it would make more sense to wait until bedtime but then Eggsy strips his shirt off as he backs towards the stairs and Harry can do nothing but trail after him like a lost dog.  Why silly flavoured lube is enough to warrant this sudden single mindedness he has no idea, considering they have a few flavours stashed away and don’t particularly like any of them. Tropical, apparently, tastes like Juicyfruit chewing gum someone’s already been chewing, and he personally finds anything strawberry flavoured horribly reminiscent of children’s cold medicine. Why Eggsy expects this to buck the trend he isn’t sure, but in for a penny, in for the whole pound that’s been chucked at the endeavour. 

Eggsy’s shower is brief - the image of him hastily lathering up and scrubbing down the important bits no less inspiring than watching him might be, as it turns out - and when he emerges from the bathroom he’s popped his pyjama trousers on. He doesn’t wander the house naked since JB decided he wanted Eggsy to help him with seeing off the neighbours’ cat and almost took out a bollock in his excitement. But his trousers are slung low enough to bare the thick muscles of his Adonis belt and the stripe of clippered hair leading the trail from under his navel, down into his trousers. 

Still, he doesn’t appear to be going anywhere. Harry is standing pointlessly holding the lube and Eggsy’s got his bottom lip in his teeth as he takes it from him and strips the plastic off. Harry could have done that in preparation, if he hadn’t been paralysed rigid in more than one sense by the sheer force and speed of the come-on, wondering how many more subtle hints have sailed over his head and what might need to be the final straw; at what point Eggsy might just present Harry with his bare cock and a set of instructions, or a plea. This is close enough. 

Working the pump a few times to get it to produce, Eggsy sniffs at the gel and wipes a gleaming line of it diagonally down his pec and over his nipple, making it glint like a cartoon diamond in the light. It perks up beautifully at the cool touch, drawing into a tight little point  complemented by gooseflesh springing out across his chest. Harry - obediently, obviously - ducks in to lick the lube up in a long, slow stripe...

… that ends in a coughing fit.

“Good  _ grief,”  _ he splutters, putting a hand to his throat. The exaggerated floral bitterness of it  _ stings _ it’s so strong. “That’s uniquely vile.”

“Is it?” The noise Eggsy makes isn’t quite a full huff of disappointment but the twist of air out of his nose is certainly on that scale and Harry can’t imagine when he’s ever gleaned the impression Harry needed additional flavourings to get his grateful mouth all over any part of Eggsy’s body that happened to be offered to him, because it’s dead wrong. 

“Let’s have a go.”  Eggsy squeezes a blob out onto his finger and, for want of anything better to do with it, smears it down the side of Harry’s neck before chasing it with his tongue, his breath temptingly warm against the cool fluid as he closes his mouth against the skin to kiss the taste off, sucking a little prickle of excitement to the surface and smacking his tongue off the roof of his mouth. Harry feels the scrape of his teeth as a rush after it’s already gone, starting up a nice low throbbing even whilst Eggsy’s making a face like a cat that’s accidentally licked a lemon and hates everyone who's allowed the travesty.

Coming from someone Harry's seen knock back sambuca quite like he does, Harry finds that a little much, but his face turns thoughtful after the initial wince.

“I think it tastes a bit too much like gin. Like… if it’s gonna be that harsh I wanna get drunk off it.  That thing got a percentage?”

Harry looks at the bottle  - just to check, actually, - and shakes his head. “I don’t think you’d want it anywhere sensitive if it did.”

“Come on." Eggsy ticks his tongue and winks. "Ain’t you never done body shots?”

“Done… I beg your pardon?” For a moment the image that projects in front of Harry’s mind’s eye is of a photo shoot, and very kindly it also fills in an amount of silly shirtless pin up costumes for Eggsy to be posing in, but the meaning presents itself just as Eggsy decides he’s not having a word of Harry’s naïveté.

“Oh yes you have, don’t give me that. Tequila in the bellybutton, salt wherever you fancy licking, lemon up in the mouth so you can come up for a kiss…” he pulls Harry flush against him by the belt loops and his mouth tastes of artificial quinine, of all things. How is it that they managed to get  _ that _ right and the rest so spectacularly wrong? 

“Surely lime… and you know I don’t drink tequila.”

“Unless you’re already smashed, no. Alright. Hold that thought.” He gives Harry one more lingering, biting kiss and the head spin does nothing for Harry’s confusion, but as if that matters. “Gonna make you the gentleman’s version.”

" _Gentleman's...?"_

Stock still, Harry listens to Eggsy’s feet pound down the stairs, a couple of quiet knocks as he rummages for goodness knows what. The dog barks at him and gets shushed with a sly, knowing murmur Harry can't quite make out but is nonetheless convinced is a filthy little promise about just why JB can't come up and sit on the bed right at this moment and somehow Harry's erection responds to the suggestion he hasn't heard accordingly.  

Eggsy reappears b randishing a bottle of Noilly In one hand and one of Blackwoods gin in the other, with a swagger to his hips and his tongue bulging his cheek. He looks like he should be the life and soul of some sort of beautifully debaucherous party and Harry has to remind himself that this is his Tuesday evening. He’s also still in a suit but that doesn’t seem entirely wrong, somehow, and he doesn’t manage the wherewithal to undress any further than taking his blazer off as he watches Eggsy lay back and pose himself on the bed, propped up on his elbow, bottles to hand when he beckons Harry forwards.

The fullness to Eggsy’s cheek turns out not to be his tongue when he sucks to roll an olive out and pose it between his teeth and suddenly the perfect recline, the luge of his six pack and the burning intent in Eggsy's eyes make the instructions for this clear without a word.  His trousers are thin soft cotton and Harry can clearly see the outline of his cock, already perking up with interest which is entirely fair: Harry is hopelessly predictable at the best of times and subtlety seems to have gone the way of the rest of Eggsy’s clothes, the lube in question and proper drinking vessels: no longer relevant. He crunches into a sit up to free his hands and tips the vermouth bottle against his fingers, barely wetting them with it - _“that’s enough for you, ain’t it?”_ \- and wipes them down his chest. His right hand he puts back too lean on; with the left he picks up the gin and pours a generous measure into his navel, sucking in his stomach so his muscles provide a bigger dent and holding the pose, rock solid and glistening, whilst Harry stares.

“Any time you like, love,” he manages to the side of the olive, after a moment.. “This actually takes a shit-tonne of muscle control.”

“I dare say.”

Harry bends to sip the gin from the divot around Eggsy’s navel, prodding the muscle with his tongue to channel it into his mouth. It may not be elegant but it is effective: a whole slurping mouthful of neat spirit that he doesn’t bother taking time to appreciate because he’s got to swallow it before he licks up the stripe of vermouth divining Eggsy’s abs, which is definitely worth savouring, and carries on up his sternum just in case he’s missed a drop and because the salt of his skin is perfect, just perfect to cut through the juniper. The _exact_ right brine and that’s it: Harry’s ruined for martinis forevermore by the time he takes the olive from Eggsy’s teeth. Sod asking for them with Bond-baiting quips: Harry Hart will request his spirits be served not on the rocks but on the rock solid stomach of an acrobatically honed twenty-six year old for the rest of his days. 

Well, the rest of the evening, at least.

He chews the olive with his eyes closed, trying to compose himself; trying to work out which mission it was that killed him and how long he’s been in heaven, what he’s ever done to deserve it. The sheer dryness of the gin down his throat tastes so strong his mind tells him he can feel it already, loosening his stance and warming his core, and that heaviness sinking blissfully through his body makes him go to his knees by Eggsy’s hips and look up at him beseechingly.

“May I have another?”

Eggsy’s a little breathless, rather wonderfully. 

“Babes, you can do the rest of the bottle.” He rolls his cheek and another olive appears on his tongue - “This is your last olive though.” 

That’s utterly disgusting; also slightly disappointing; also makes Harry’s cock throb demandingly against his zip.

The next slug of gin into the dip of Eggsy’s tummy is generous, probably more than a mouthful’s worth but Harry doesn’t mind that at all. The vermouth he actually pours this time, touching the bottle to his chest and tilting it until a rivulet runs, taking the natural path down the middle line of his body and somehow  Harry dives in and catches it with his mouth: opens wide to try to contain the mess of gin that dribbles off Eggsy’s stomach when he starts laughing. Harry swallows quickly; kisses the remnant stream off Eggsy’s chest and meets him in a shaky kiss, accepting the olive and swallowing it after one bite in favour of accepting Eggsy’s tongue in his mouth, letting it overwhelm him, giving back until Harry finds himself half on the bed, head swimming, his hand pawing at gin-dripped cotton.

“Oh no,” Harry hears himself say in the most undaunted voice imaginable. “Now your trousers are all damp. They’ll have to come off.” 

“What a fucking shame.” Eggsy plays along gamely, wriggling them down and his cock actually slaps him in the belly, a clear drip of precome slipping on his wet skin and rolling straight into his navel. 

Harry nearly faints, and Eggsy… either Eggsy was watching him very carefully when he looked or he’s been watching him very carefully for a long time, because he pours a shot of gin in after it and guides Harry down to drink it with a handful of his hair. 

He’ll never say it out loud, because it truly does make him sound like the world’s most disgraceful pervert, but it’s genuinely palatable. Harry’s always liked his martinis on the dirty side.

“Christ,” murmurs Eggsy, his eyes dark, sweat starting to shine the blades of his cheekbones and dampen his hairline. He lets go of his grip on Harry’s hair but doesn’t take his hand away: just holds his gaze whilst Harry rolls the tastes across his tongue. “Think you’ve had enough love. Last orders." Still, he's patient enough to allow Harry to painstakingly lick what's left of the booze off his belly, letting his eyes soften to close and shuddering sharply when Harry's teeth graze the skin below his navel. " _ Time, gentlemen, please.” _

“Time for what, do you propose, my darling?”

Bleary with  arousal, Eggsy sits back up and takes a moment to look around him: at the clear but astringent smelling damp patches on the bed, wetting the front of Harry’s shirt; at the mess that Harry is himself, no doubt; and then he lights clearly upon the discarded bottle of lubricant.

“We’ve agreed this is duff, yeah? Taste wise?”

“Completely revolting.” 

“And these sheets need to come off?”

“Almost immediately.”

Eggsy unscrews the lid and the pump cap at once, chucks them away, and upends the entire bottle over his stomach, his cock and his free hand. The result is a spreading pool of clear gel threatening to drip off the sides of his tummy and running down the crease of his groin over his balls that Harry has to force himself to resist the urge to lick because really it does taste  _ exactly _ how you’d expect a sex product from the pound shop to taste… 

...but it does _adequately_ fulfil the wet and slippery remit, which exceeds Harry’s initial expectations and is about all that matters for the following half an hour, so Harry has to rather swallow his pride on the Poundland products front. 

He also has to concede the point that Roysters make an excellent post-coital drink accompaniment. He just wishes they'd worked that one out  _before_ he changed the sheets.   
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Any feedback or encouragement you may have for me gratefully grovelled for: the creative brain's a quiet place right now and I do hate that. Tumblr allowed me back at @randomactsofviolence if you're interested! Thanks for reading.


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